Red Shoes
by Ansy Pansy aka Panz
Summary: Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting. FINAL CHAPTER!
1. August Afternoon

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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Well I don't know where this appeared from. Well I do, the intro lecture was really pointless and boring and I have cute red shoes and they got splashed. Sadly there was no handsome stranger around at the time lol. Anyway, just a little treat for you all. I know I've left it kind of open ended but I'm not planning to continue! But you know me, never say never

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_August 1983_

The rain in Northern California was something Kirsten would just have to get used to. Of course they had rain in the O.C. but it wasn't the same. At home rainstorms were unusual although torrential but blew themselves out within a day or so at the most. Here in Berkeley rain would begin without a storm warning, unpredictable and varied. Sometimes a thorough downpour for an hour, other times grey drizzle blurring the days into one another. She knew now there were many different types of rain. There was the fine mist that made her hair frizz, the spitting that ruined a sunny day. The drizzle that would slowly soak you on the way to a lecture, the sudden downpour that always caught you when you didn't have your umbrella, the heavy, steady sluice that drummed on the rooftops, lashed the windowpanes, splashed back up from the pavements and made her actually miss home, or at least the weather there.

It would of course choose to rain the day she wore her new red shoes. Kirsten didn't think that was very fair. Shoes as pretty as hers shouldn't be rained on. They were red, obviously, with gently pointed toes, cute Mary Jane straps across and heels she felt she could get away with trailing between classes in. Not that that had ever stopped her before. But these were cute and sensible…enough. And they made Kirsten feel like tap dancing. There was something special about wearing red shoes. Maybe it was a Dorothy complex but red shoes seemed a little bit magic.

She'd had a pair of red t-bars as a child when everything was still a fairytale. Kirsten had worn them with everything and even the memory of her first real fight with her father when he tried to make her change them for some Newport party or other, didn't affect how special they'd been.

In her teens Kirsten had bought a pair of bright red boots. Garish, slutty, thigh-high boots with four inch metal stilettos. They weren't really her at all. She'd barely worn them, but she'd bought them all the same; an attempt at rebellion that her father never saw. The day Taryn told her they were 'fuck-me' boots and she wanted some, Kirsten put them in the back of the wardrobe.

Today the shoes were a dusty colour but still bright red. Red enough to make today special just by wearing them. The leather was soft, inlaid with cut-out patterns making the shoes incongruous; the colour, the straps, the style, almost childish, the heels and shape making them elegant, maybe even a little bit flirty. Or at least that's what she liked to think. They were certainly cute.

Kirsten loved the looks she got from people on the street, the way those shoes could transform her whole outfit and the way she felt. Confident.

She walked proudly in those shoes, happy, tapping down the street. She loved how she only had to look down at her feet to make her smile.

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Sandy wasn't sure when he'd first noticed the girl walking ahead of him he just suddenly realised he was watching her. She was petite and blonde with a cute ass but surprisingly enough that wasn't what he was watching in particular. It was the way she walked that got to him. Head up proudly; back straight, hips swaying slightly from side to side as she placed her feet one in front of the other like a model on the catwalk but it didn't appear to be phoney, more like she walked like a superstar naturally. If he couldn't hear the heels clicking on the sidewalk he would think she was floating. She had a presence, flair, right down her long, slender legs to her feet which were what his eyes were caught on. Red shoes. True he could only see the backs of them, but they were definitely red, bright leather with wooden heels that were twice as high as anyone else wore just for walking round campus. The shoes stood out in the street and against her outfit, which although it was obviously well cut and well put together was simply elegant, it didn't shout 'look at me'. The shoes were like a wink across a lecture hall, a random smile in the street, a tease, a surprise, a bright point in the day. Sandy wondered why on earth he was thinking so hard about the shoes and the girl wearing them. He just liked the idea, he realised, liked whoever it was who was trotting along the street in shoes that would look more suitable on stage in a production of the Wizard of Oz. He found himself wondering if she'd be walking the same way next week.

Wrapped up in his thoughts he almost fell over her when she stopped all of a sudden. One foot was splashed with muddy water which had spurted out from under a broken paving slab when she stepped on it.

'Fuck!' she exclaimed crossly, hopping sideways and muttering under her breath at the sidewalk.

Sandy smirked. He didn't know many good looking girls who swore so unblinkingly in the middle of the street.

'That slab is always a killer,' he said as he drew level.

She turned to look at him and her face was more beautiful than he had let himself hope for when faced only with her back. 'Well they should fix it! What the hell do I pay taxes for?'

He laughed and shrugged not knowing what to say now, words dwindling as his brain registered how hot she was, how totally out of his league.

'Just what I don't need,' she complained, more to herself than him as she dug through her bag for a tissue. 'Wet feet when I'm already late...' she growled, wiping off her shoe and glancing up, bottom lip caught between her teeth. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't rant at you…you don't know where the Dawson building is do you?'

Sandy smiled thinking how cute that face was, button nose and blue-green eyes framed by the golden curls tumbling haphazardly from her head.

'Freshman?'

She nodded, blushing. 'With no sense of direction.'

'Well you've done fine so far, you just missed the entrance,' he told her, motioning to a slip road a couple of feet behind them.

'Thank you!' she breathed, looking at him properly for the first time, taking in a shock of messy black hair, piercing blue eyes and a half-sheepish, half-cheeky smile. Their eyes locked for a moment before she remembered how late she was.

'I gotta go but thank you.'

'You're welcome,' he said as she ducked her head and turned away. 'Cute shoes by the way,' he added.

Kirsten glanced over her shoulder as she hurried back in the other direction; heels tapping double-time on the tarmac, and smiled a megawatt smile at the handsome stranger with such good taste. Sandy watched her for a moment before sauntering off himself, looking back himself to see if she would do it again.

She did. Result he thought, kicking himself for not having the foresight to ask her name.

'Red Shoes' would have to do.

---

Kirsten always said the best things happen when you least expect. That wearing red shoes made any day a good day. That special things happened when you wore them. She didn't know just how special that particular day had been.

The next time she wore her red shoes was Halloween.

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Please review

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	2. October Before Midnight

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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Never say never. What a joke. Here is a second instalment!

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_October 1983 – Before Midnight_

Sandy was sat on the floor, back against a wall, legs stretched across the corridor. He hadn't wanted to come to this house party anyway but Paul was on one of his 'make our final year all time' missions. These seemed to involve dragging Sandy out as much as possible, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and generally ignoring the fact that they had finals this year. Paul called it 'making up for lost time'; subtly hinting at how much time Sandy had wasted on Rebecca in the last two years. It wasn't that he didn't want to have a good time, to move on but it was going to take more than Paul's latest party invite. Plus, he would actually like to graduate with a decent degree.

The argument this time had been that Law School applications were already done and he couldn't sit around worrying about it. Paul had a point but Sandy would much rather stay home and dull his senses, buried up to his ears in some tomb of a law book. Last semester he'd tried a different approach to getting over his fiancée but he hadn't liked the effect it had on his grades, his bank balance or his reputation. Waking up to the fact these results would go on his Law School application transcript, Sandy had slogged long and hard for his end of year exams. He discovered that holing up in his room and shutting out his emotions with revision, although rather depressing, worked as well as several pints and a different girl every other night. Of course, post-exams he'd embraced that lifestyle because he didn't have an excuse not to and because none of those girls had wanted any more than a good time. Certainly none of them were looking to take his heart and smash it. They were into screwing of a different kind.

He'd gone home thoroughly exhausted and disappointingly not much less depressed than he had been in the spring. Sandy had worked most of the summer and gone back to Berkeley with three resolutions; to work hard, to play hard and not to think about you-know-who. Paul was often complaining about how well he managed the former, several girls could vouch for the second and the third Sandy would never admit one way or the other. There had been a couple of girls this semester, or rather, a couple of nights; he couldn't seem to actually face the idea of a date, didn't see the point any more. Then of course, if he was honest he might have inadvertently followed the mysterious girl with the red shoes along the street a few times. It wasn't like he planned it, not really. They both obviously just had lectures in the same direction. He hadn't seen the red shoes or spoken to her again but it was definitely her; there was no mistaking the gliding gait, the way in which she carried herself and that blonde hair. Then there were her clothes. Girls clothes weren't something Sandy took much notice of. Sometimes he figured things looked nice or suited someone, other times the lack of clothing was more important or the ease of access! 'Red Shoes' always looked a little different although her clothes appeared to be what he might have identified as classical if he knew how to describe them but there was also something different about them, something quirky. She wore outfits rather than clothes he realised; things that went together although not necessarily matching. There was often something special too; the shoes, a scarf, a belt, a hat, a pair of traffic-stoppingly bright tights. One time it was a bright tartan skirt in the midst of black, another a dungaree dress, the next a long stylish mac, a casual dress still smarter than everyone else, a hot pink jumper and matching shoes, a skirt a good four inches shorter than anyone else's. She did stylish, she did cute, she did vintage and cutting-edge of fashion and managed to look good in everything. However, he wasn't gay and it was the girl wearing them that really had his attention, it was the _way_ she wore her clothes made her notice them.

If it had been any other girl walking round campus Sandy would have sped up, sauntered past, flashed his patent Sandy Cohen grin and flirted. This was different; he didn't know any girls like that and she didn't look like the type to melt at his smile and fall into bed. Those shoes had marked her out as a kick ass and he was happy with this arrangement. He got a nice view on the way to his last class and a pleasant diversion to amuse him for the next hour, all without having to make any effort on his part. Sandy Cohen wasn't big on making an effort with girls any more.

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'He-ll-oo! Oy! Wake up!' a female voice broke into Sandy's conscious. He opened his eyes slowly to find a pair of slender legs wearing very distinctive black lacy tights directly in his line of sight. His gaze travelled appreciatively downwards as she continued to complain at him. 'You! You're blocking the bathroom door.'

'Huh?' was the distracted response; he was now fixated on her shoes. Bright. Red. Shoes.

'Earth to dude on the floor! Get the hell out the way! What, are you wasted _and _stoned?'

One red-shoe clad foot began to tap impatiently as Sandy swept his eyes upwards. _Those_ red shoes, endless legs oozing sex appeal; scrolling patterns and flowers curling from ankle to thigh where they disappeared tauntingly under the tantalisingly short hem of a simple black dress. It was her. And then that face; the classic features he hadn't forgotten despite the brevity of their meeting. Tonight her lips were stained a deep red, eyes heavily outlined with kohl. He wasn't sure the look suited her but she could pull it off. Plus it was Halloween and anything goes. Absently he registered the shine of her hair falling in soft waves around her face before being drawn back to her eyes. Blue eyes, greener than he remembered against the dark makeup, pupils slightly dilated.

'Neither,' he answered. 'Just…' Sandy shrugged, knowing better than to say 'depressed' to anyone.

She quirked an eyebrow at him, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. 'Well, as intriguing as that statement sounds I really, really need to use the bathroom so…'

'Oh.' Sandy suddenly felt like an idiot. She was only talking to him to get him out the way; she didn't recognise him at all. 'Sorry.'

'It's okay,' she mumbled, obviously embarrassed. He stood up gingerly, not quite as sober as he made out.

'Thanks.'

'You're welcome. Nice shoes by the way,' he added as he walked away.

'…Thanks,' she repeated distractedly, frowning slightly at the words as she opened the bathroom door. Déjà vu was such a bitch.

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Better late than never huh? And would you believe it…it needs another part haha! Afraid I don't know when that will appear but keep hanging on. Writing will prevail in the end! Please review

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	3. October Around Midnight

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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What the hell is going on? Red Shoes has morphed into a giant fic! I've written quite a lot. Let's see how many chapters this one-shot ends up as. I think I have a problem

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_October 1983 – Around Midnight_

Sandy figured it was a bit weird to sit outside the bathroom door when there was someone inside so sloped reluctantly off to the kitchen. He debated getting another beer but the one he had been nursing for the past hour was still only half empty. After failing to remember whether Red Shoes had been sans drink or not when they'd met, he rejected the idea of the downing his in order to have an excuse to get her a drink when she reappeared. That assumed she would actually talk to him this evening and Sandy didn't fancy his chances. She was drop dead gorgeous, in costumes and obviously enjoying himself, whereas he had made the minimum effort and had been sat in the corner scruffy and sulking like a child at an adult party. Nonetheless he couldn't help but smile at the fact he was here, so unexpectedly. He was easily pleased.

Paul saw him enter the kitchen and extricated himself from the gaggle of girls around the punch bowl.

'What's got you grinning like a Cheshire cat?' he asked suspiciously. 'Did someone get a quickie?'

'You know, being happy does not always equate to getting laid,' Sandy pointed out, a little snappishly.

'Well I know that; the amount you got laid last semester and you were still miserable,' his friend shot back.

Sandy glared, wishing he could do anything to put those words back in his best friend's mouth, to take back those crazy months. Red Shoes had just walked in and obviously heard it all. Life was cruel sometimes.

She rolled her eyes and headed for the alcohol, watching out the corner of her eye with amusement as the guy punched his friend's arm. Paul laughed manically as Sandy dragged him away to the other end of the kitchen.

'Her?' he spluttered incredulously. 'You like _her_?' Paul barely stifled another guffaw as Sandy shrugged noncommitantly, the mutinous look on his face ruining the general effect.

'Never said that.'

'Didn't have to man, your face is a picture.'

'Huh.'

'Do you even know who she is?'

'No and it doesn't matter, drop it Paul.'

'Aw come on, when was the last time you liked a girl? And liked for more than the ten minutes it takes to get what you want?'

'Fuck off.'

'Okay, okay, but you know I'm half right. Look at you, you've gone all sheepish!'

'I have not.'

'What is it then?'

'I don't even know her. I've just…seen her around.'

'Around as in _around_?'

'No! Look, she walks ahead of me on a Monday afternoon. She has a cute ass and killer legs. She's a distraction on the way to class that's all.'

'Hmm.' Paul surveyed his friend. 'So if she's just a nice piece of ass why aren't you over there turning on the Sandy Cohen charm?'

'I have my reasons?'

'Like what? She's a freshman and a notorious one at that? She's the richest girl in school? Just broken up with her high school sweetheart? Is way out of your league?'

'Well I was only going for the last one but…wait a minute, how the hell do you know all that stuff?'

'Some of us haven't been sleepwalking through the past couple of months. People talk and Kirsten Nichol certainly gives them something to talk about.'

'Why?' he asked a little too quickly, distracted from appearing cool by the sound of her name in his ears.

Kirsten Nichol.

'So you are interested!'

'No…I just…may as well catch up on the gossip right?'

'Riiight,' Paul agreed, not believing a word. 'You _so_ like her.'

'Paul! She's just over there, do you have to talk so loud?'

'So you do?'

'…No…she's just a girl I watch. That might make me a stalker but it doesn't mean I _like_ her like her.'

'Good. Because Kirsten Nichol is bad news. Guys are falling for her all over the place and it'll only end in tears, theirs not hers. Girls like that eat guys like us for breakfast. Plus she's a borderline alcoholic and potential train wreck. A relationship with her is an accident just waiting to happen. You _really_ do not need another girl who is just gonna steamroller through your life. As your best mate I'm willing to pick up the pieces a second time but I'm hoping I won't have to… And that means you have to listen to me,' Paul finished, realising Sandy's attention had waned. 'Sandy! _Sandy_!'

'Uh yeah?' was the distracted reply, his eyes still focussed over his friend's shoulder. 'Kirsten Nichol…bad news. I get it.'

'Paul didn't even have to turn around to know what, or rather who, he was looking at. Sandy didn't get it, he was already gone.

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I know OC readers are dropping off around here so surprise me and leave a review. I'll update asap.

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	4. November Midnight

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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And here we are again

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_October 1983 – Midnight_

Kirsten was bored of the increasingly drunken chatter. True she wasn't exactly sober herself but she didn't, and swore she would never, cultivate the shrill, exaggerated laughter of some of her friends. The two guys in the corner had finally quit staring at her without making a move and the tall guy had dragged the other one off. She swore she knew the shorter one from somewhere but his costume and the amount she'd drunk was making recognition difficult. She wandered around somewhat aimlessly for a while, suddenly no longer enjoying herself. The spark had gone out of the evening. She was tired of drinking games and didn't fancy walking home in these shoes totally wasted. She'd probably ruin them and that would be very bad news. Plus the sense of déjà vu was troubling her. For some reasons she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to that guy's flyaway comment about her shoes.

Talking of the shoes, perhaps they hadn't been such a good idea. She must have had more punch than she'd thought back in the kitchen because they felt higher than usual. It wasn't her fault; between being plied with drink by her friends and knocking back a couple in case the cute guys in the corner did come over, she should be unsteady on her feet. They were both finalists after all or so someone had told her. The black guy tall and toned and the other had a good body, the potential for muscles under his shirt and nice arms. It was a shame she hadn't been able to see his face. She'd only really just started looking at guys that way again. Sizing them up, thinking them cute, considering getting back into the game again. The break up, inevitable though it was and somewhat of a relief when it finally came, had still hit her hard. Particularly when there was the haunting knowledge, when things got tough, that she could have been at USC with Jimmy. Not that she wanted to be any more. Berkeley had turned out to be perfect. After a somewhat shaky start and far too much tequila, she'd found a routine, a group of friends, some better than others, and a niche for herself. A pretty big one, she was Kirsten Nichol after all and Nichols didn't do things by halves. If she was going to party, she would party. If she got drunk, she got screaming drunk. Not that it ever got that ugly. As much as she might be rebelling against the life she used to live, Newport etiquette was in her blood. She would always be an elegant drunk.

She hadn't planned on getting drunk tonight; the memory of her birthday still too fresh in her mind, or rather, completely blurry. White wine was her drink of choice, yet for some reason; someone else was buying, she'd had copious amounts of red and turned into one hell of an emotional drunk. A late night phone call from Jimmy certainly hadn't helped matters. It had been a real case of 'it's my party and I'll cry if I want to'. She'd been lying low for a while since then but Halloween was too good a reason to dress up and party to miss.

And yet here she was, not even having fun. She couldn't believe some stupid guy with a paper bag over his head, scruffy clothes and a flippant comment had got her so disconcerted. She couldn't help but thing he'd been watching her back in the kitchen but what did she know? They'd probably just heard the gossip and wanted to see for themselves. No doubt she had disappointed tonight by not living up to her Sou Cal party girl reputation.

Feeling a little dizzy, Kirsten found the back door to the yard with some relief. She failed to notice both the figure in the shadows, leaning up against the house enjoying a quiet smoke, and the fact there was a step outside the door. Already a little unstable, she managed to miss it completely and found herself falling forward.

Almost immediately the cigarette was stubbed out on the ground and Sandy was moving to catch her. He managed to break her fall but not prevent an awkward landing.

'Fuck!' Kirsten shrieked in shock, half at the fall and half at the arms that had appeared out of the dark to catch her.

Right then he knew who it was. He didn't even need to see the shoes.

'It's okay,' he said, hurriedly disentangling himself, not wanting her to think he was trying anything on. Kirsten righted herself, gingerly putting weight on her feet and letting off a round of unblinking expletives.

'Are you hurt?'

'No, but I might have buggered my shoe,' was the muffled reply as she bent over to check. She was dismayed to find scuffed toes but thankfully the heels seemed fine when she stamped.

'Thankfully not. Anyway, thanks,' she continued, straightening up and looking at her white knight. '…You!'

Sandy laughed sheepishly. 'I'm surprised you recognise me.'

'Actually I don't have a clue where I know you from,' she answered, watching as his shoulders sagged a little. It surprised her how she didn't need to see his face; she could read his body language and it was plainly saying, 'She doesn't recognise me. Damn.'

'Well I appreciate you talking to the almost stranger lurking in the shadows,' he joked flatly.

'You know the reason I don't recognise you is probably because you're wearing a bag over your head,' she pointed out, rather amused.

The note of something akin to relief was evident in Sandy's laughter and Kirsten joined in to mask the awkwardness that was fast disappearing.

'See I'd take it off now but that puts you under pressure.'

'Well I wouldn't want to disappoint.'

'I'd forgive you. I don't expect you to remember.'

'Oh really. Why's that?'

'We haven't met properly. I've just…seen you around and…'

'Heard things?' she asked pointedly, shutting off.

'No…not really. I didn't even know your name till tonight.'

'And then you got to know everything.'

'No…Kirsten…'

'Well they got that right at least.'

Sandy sighed, at a loss for what to say. This girl was too defensive by half.

'I'm sorry. It's just I come from gossip central USA and I thought I was escaping all that.'

'Where's home for you?'

'Newport Beach,' she told him, adding 'Orange County,' when he gave her a blank look in response.

'Orange County?'

'It's in Southern California.'

'Never heard of it.'

'Lucky you.'

'That bad?'

'I just like having my own life.'

'Know the feeling.'

'But I just can't seem to escape being gossiped about.'

'If it's any consolation I really haven't heard any of it.'

'Until tonight.'

'You're far too hung up on this.'

'So you have heard something?'

'Doesn't mean I believe it.'

'Just tell me.'

'It doesn't matter.'

'But…'

'Honestly, it doesn't. I'm not interested in what anyone's saying. Who your dad or boyfriend is isn't really any of my business.'

'I guess not. But for your information I don't have a boyfriend and most of the time I pretend the same about my father.'

'OK, I won't ask.'

She smiled at that. 'God I'm sorry. Here you were just being a gentleman and I go offload on you.'

'It's fine.'

'No it's not but thank you…I don't even know your name.'

'Sandy, Sandy Cohen.'

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Well, well, well. There are another 3 chapters after this…so far!! Haha. Let me know anything you want to see. Love, love.

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	5. November After Midnight

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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I'm still confused as to how this happened. I was typing all the stuff I wrote on holiday up and I've written a hell of a lot! Oops!

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_October 1983 – After Midnight_

'Sandy Cohen?' Kirsten repeated, frantically trying to place the name.

'Ye-ah,' he said, ducking his head, the paper bag crackling. 'It's short for Sanford.'

'Sanford…sure I don't know anyone called that. I'd remember.'

'Well we've never been introduced and we're not in any of the same classes.'

'You're a fourth year right?'

'Sounds like someone else has been hearing things too.'

'Oh,' Kirsten laughed. 'Just that. 'Fraid I don't have any juicy gossip to repeat.'

'Well you're right. I'm a finalist, don't really generate much gossip.'

'Really?'

Sandy thought back to the conversation Kirsten had overheard between him and Paul. 'Well not any more, there was a phase… I had a tough couple of months a while back but I'm over that now.'

'You and me both.'

'Good,' he said without really knowing why. 'I mean…well…you know.'

'Yeah. It is good,' Kirsten agreed, smiling back at the eyes that were smiling at her through the holes in the paper bag. As far as she could tell they were blue and looking right at her, into her. She swallowed almost nervously and struggled to suppress a giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation. She cursed herself when it bubbled over, dropping eye contact in embarrassment.

'What?' Sandy questioned softly, reaching out a hesitant finger and tilting her chin upwards to face him again. She bit her lip, looking anywhere but those deep midnight eyes.

'Nothing…I just, sorry.'

'You okay?' he asked, letting the finger trail down her neck and across her collarbone to her shoulder which he squeezed gently.

Kirsten shivered.

'Yeah,' she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

'Good.' He let his hand slide down her arm to met hers, rewarded when her felt her fingers curl tentatively round his. 'So I'm guessing I look pretty ridiculous,' he remarked, the light laughter in his tone a contrast to the silently charged moment they had shared.

'A little,' she agreed.

'But you find it charming?' Sandy cocked his head to one side then the other, obviously posing to try and make her laugh. She did, reaching forward in an attempt to pull it off. He ducked away playfully. 'Oh I don't think so!'

'Why not?' she pretended to pout.

'It might be my turn to disappoint.'

'What?'

'I could be hiding something.'

'Like what? Big ears? A hook nose?'

'Well I am Jewish.'

'Come on Sandy, I may be from Southern California but I'm not that shallow.'

'I wouldn't think it for a moment.'

'Well then?'

'Give me a good reason.' Sandy couldn't keep the suggestion out of his voice.

'I dare you.'

'Oh don't you dare me.'

'But I do.'

'Fool.'

'Double dare!'

'Hmm, tempting, but I still don't get anything out of it.'

'And I do?'

'Uhu.'

'What precisely? Is seeing your ugly mug such a treat?'

'Oy, harsh Kirsten!'

Kirsten laughed and fluttered her eyelashes. 'You're a big boy, you can handle it.'

'Oh someone's getting cocky,' Sandy teased, stroking her hand with his thumb to let her know he was joking. She smiled, lacing her fingers with his.

'No, just someone is getting impatient.'

'I see that,' he replied, fending her off as she made another swipe at the bag.

'Please?' she wheedled, edging closer with each plea. 'Pretty please? Pretty…pretty…pretty please…with a cherry…on…top?'

Sandy could feel her breath fluttering on the other side of the paper and it was his turn to swallow thickly. He didn't know where his resolve was coming from when all he could think about was kissing her, bag or no bag.

Those sea green-blue eyes were right up close, peeping up at him through seductively lowered lashes and the edge of her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. It was a routine, a ploy and he could see straight through it. But that didn't mean he didn't want to fall for it.

'I know what you're doing,' he breathed with some difficulty.

'Oh really?' she asked again, the flirting lilt in her voice almost as distracting as the fact she was stood right against him now. Sandy gave himself up to the inevitable and plotted his retaliation. When she did succeed in trophying the bag any triumphant exclamation was lost as he kissed her full and hard on the mouth.

Kirsten froze momentarily. She wasn't sure what she'd expected when she started playing that game but she should have known better than to play with fire. There were a hundred reasons to back off; she barely knew this guy, he was older and definitely more experienced if his kisses were anything to go by. She didn't think she'd ever been kissed like this and that was the moment she realised she wasn't putting up much of a show and began to kiss him back.

Sandy was starting to hesitate, wondering whether it had been one hell of a mistake to kiss her. He'd done it without really thinking but that said, thinking hadn't gotten him anywhere lately. He was considering breaking away and apologising profusely when he felt her respond. And it wasn't half hearted.

Kirsten didn't waste time, wanting to make up for her initial hesitation. He didn't expect her to fight for control, her free hand snaking up to twine her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his head down towards her.

And he didn't expect her to be the one pushing the boundaries of the open-mouthed kiss he'd initiated; her tongue seeking his and taking possession of his mouth.

He faltered and Kirsten smiled into his mouth at his surprise. Sandy responded by kissing her back roughly, catching her tongue with his and making Kirsten swallow a moan. This guy was good. Verging on too good.

He slid his hand down to her waist and tantalisingly slowly to the small of her back where he pressed her towards him. Kirsten felt her breath hitch in her chest at the increased contact, uncertain how long her legs would hold out when her knees already felt like trembling. As though reading her mind, Sandy tightened his grip. He extended his arm to hold her more comfortable round the waist as he eased forward, backing her up a few paces against the house. She didn't seem to mind being manhandled, leaning back and wrapping both arms around his neck. He used his free hand to support himself against the building, leaning over to continue kissing her. She was smaller than he'd thought, even in her heels.

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There's a lot of kissing isn't there? Lol

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	6. November The Early Hours

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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Oh how I crack myself up.

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_October 1983 – The Early Hours_

Kirsten was light-headed and breathless but couldn't seem to break away. Eventually she figured passing out might be a bit of a waste of the evening and withdrew slightly. Sandy mimicked her movement, breaking the kiss.

'Sorry,' she managed to get out before trying to gasp for air in a subtle fashion. Sandy smiled, a little bemused but didn't respond immediately, breathing heavily himself.

'Don't apologise,' he told her, frantically holding her eyes with his, not trusting to let her look down. It wasn't usual for a kiss to get him going but that hadn't been a usual kiss and Kirsten wasn't a usual girl. She'd surprised him and his body had responded accordingly.

Too late. She dropped her eyes and hurriedly averted them from the bulge in his pants. Sand could see colour tinge her cheeks in the darkness. That surprised him too. How could a girl who kissed like _that_ not know the power she held over men. He found himself wanting to know more about her, suddenly torn between talking and kissing her again.

'Sorry,' he mumbled, wrong footed by her reaction and now a little embarrassed himself.

'It's okay,' she said, smirking and surprising him again with her quick recovery.

'It's just you've got something. You're really hot…and…gorgeous as well and that kiss and well…I uh, like you…' he trailed off his ramble; realising Kirsten wasn't listening for all she might be staring at him intently.

The shock of unruly, black hair, strong features, sheepish grin. She tried to focus; her brain invaded with thoughts of how cute he was. She knew him, knew his face, his smile, somewhere in the back of her head. And those eyes…

'I know who you are,' she said slowly and Sandy's heart leapt in spite of himself.

'Really?' he choked out. 'Because I wouldn't have thought a kiss would jog your memory.'

'Well maybe you're just that good,' Kirsten offered, shifting her arms from his neck to his waist. She smiled, satisfied with her detective work.

'Why thank you.'

'Or maybe I just have a flair for remembering shady characters.'

Sandy chuckled at that. 'Come on then. Who do you think I am?'

'You're the guy who stalks me on the way to class civ on Monday afternoons.'

'I do not _stalk_ you.'

'It _is_ you,' Kirsten insisted. 'Right at the start of the semester I asked you for directions. You said 'I like your shoes'.'

'I said 'thanks can I follow you?''

'What?'

'Lover I Don't Have To Love, song lyrics. I do it all the time. You'll get used to it.'

'Oh.'

Sandy hurried to correct his slip. 'I mean…if you, uh, feel like seeing me again…maybe?'

'I'd like that,' she said shyly.

'Me too, so…coffee? Dinner? Walk you to class on Monday?'

She laughed. 'You gonna walk ten steps behind me again?'

'Well…I do get a good view that way.'

'Sandy!' Kirsten slapped him playfully.

'Kidding,' he insisted, catching her hand in his again. 'Although if I may say so you have a damn fine ass.'

'Um…thanks, I think,' she said, blushing again.

'But before you decide I am a stalker pervert after all, you should know that I think I have the best view right here,' he told her, his eyes locked on her face.

She tried to say something, anything, but her throat was tight. The thought flashed through her head that he could say this to all the girls, he'd had enough practise to make it sound believable, she had no idea, but it was fleeting. This felt too real. It was too fast, too crazy, too all consuming to be fake. She didn't care if it was just a line, she didn't see how it could be. All that mattered were the two blue eyes in front of her. Earnest, vivid and looking right at her. She focused back on him and only him in the hope of portraying something of how she felt. Without breaking eye contact Sandy reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, stroking the golden silk, marvelling at its softness.

Kirsten felt her spine tingle and leant in to give him a soft kiss, part because she needed a distraction, part because she couldn't help herself. He smiled at her initiating it, loving the mix of confidence and shyness in this girl. She weaved from forward and in control to hesitant, innocent almost, and back again. It drew him in; _she_ drew him in without even knowing it. He kissed back, slowly, the opposite to their earlier passion but just as intense. He kept it short, wanting her to know there was more to this than the physical, pulling her close and ducking his face into her neck.

'So you admit it was you then?' she said, disappointed by the shortness of the kiss but recognising its sweetness.

'I'm training to be a lawyer,' he told her, raising his head. 'I never admit anything.'

'Fine, but it was you.'

Sandy grinned sheepishly. 'OK, maybe it was, but I didn't mean to freak you out. I do have a class along that street.'

'Sure you do,' she teased.

'I do.'

'What?'

'Social Justice Ethics.'

'Sounds fun. So law huh?'

'That's the plan, if I get into law school.'

'Where've you applied?'

'Berkeley, USC, NYC and Penn.'

'Oh right,' she said quietly, heart sinking. A finalist, she couldn't mean anything to him. Six months and he could be leaving.

'The last two are to keep my mother happy. She wants me back East. I have my heart set on Berkeley Law though,' he told her. 'Can't imagine leaving. Berkeley's home. I'd stay here forever if I could.'

'I know how you feel. I've only been here three months and I don't want to leave.'

'Looks like we both made the right choice.'

'We did. I'm dreading the holidays.'

'Same. You home for Thanksgiving?'

'And Christmas. You?'

'I'm Jewish so just the first one. Couldn't afford both anyway.'

'Where'd you live?'

'NYC.'

'Ah. Bit of a trek then.'

'Yeah, couple of days on the train just to have my mother complain.'

'She misses you I suppose.'

'No, she resents me leaving,' he said bitterly.

'I've pissed my dad off coming here too. And sadly it only takes me an hour to get back to the fights.'

He could see her getting agitated as she talked and drew her into a hug. 'Don't get upset,' he urged, rubbing her back soothingly. 'We have three weeks before Thanksgiving.'

'Wish it was three years,' she muttered, sniffing back tears. 'I'm sorry, it's just my life back home fell apart before I left and no one understands me building a new one out here. My dad doesn't approve and Caleb Nichol isn't an easy man to defy. I've had a pretty charmed life, I shouldn't complain, not by a long stretch, but nothing's perfect. It just gets hard sometimes.'

Sandy tightened his arms around her. 'We all have our own battles. Doesn't matter how big or small they look in the eyes of others.'

She looked up at him; unshed tears caught in her eyelashes and tried to read the expression in the eyes that had turned darker, harder, unfathomable.

'How did you get so wise?'

He looked away for a moment and she saw his jaw tighten before he answered his tone even but the self-control evident. She hugged him back as he spoke. 'Hard earned experience I guess. If this life has taught me anything it's that people leave you. People always fucking leave.'

He heard the walls crack a little in his own voice and words and mentally berated his weakness. No girl wanted damaged goods, someone as fucked up as he knew he could be if he let his demons win. It was his turn to apologise, try to pull away, disengage, shutter his feelings again. 'Sorry,' he muttered. 'Ignore me…I talk shit sometimes. I promise I am actually mentally stable…' he could hear himself starting to ramble and the sensible part of him groaned silently. What kind of impression would this girl be getting of him? He tried to escape her luminous eyes, not wanting to see confusion, pity, fear or any of the other things he was imagining.

Kirsten felt him withdraw both physically and emotionally and knew this wasn't the way she wanted the night to end. 'Sandy!' her words caught him, as did her small hands, soft but firm on each of his cheeks. 'Sandy, Sandy, it's alright. It'll all be okay, all of it, all of us. So we're both kinda messed up, what does it matter? So our families are screwed up, we're trying to escape lives somewhere else…it's irrelevant to tonight. We found each other, don't apologise for that.'

And it was right then that Sandy realised that crazy as it was, she might like him as much as he, to his surprise, was finding he liked her. She seemed to understand more than he told her and was still stood there, staring into his eyes.

'Sandy?' she asked, beginning to get nervous. 'I know I kinda put myself on the line there, I just meant…'

He didn't want to hear her take these words back and so silenced them the easiest way he knew how. Kirsten found her reluctant stumbling lost in Sandy's mouth, her tongue speaking a different language.

'I get it,' he said when they broke apart again, not venturing far their cheeks resting against each other. 'Maybe this is crazy, perhaps inappropriate, totally disproportionate to how well I know you but…I like you, a lot.'

'I like you too Sandy,' she said smiling. 'In case that hasn't come across.'

He laughed softly. 'I like to hear it though.'

They lapsed into silence, just standing, arms round each other, just letting their words settle. Sandy felt her rest a little more against him, head slipping to his shoulder.

'Kirsten?'

'Mmm,' was the lacking response. Sandy felt the same contented lethargy himself.

'Should I…well, may I maybe walk you home?'

'Don't want to move,' she mumbled into his shirt.

'I know, but you'll be more comfortable in the long run.'

She nodded and shifted reluctantly. 'Well I don't want to waste your chivalry.'

Indeed. Sandy Cohen. White knight.

---

Show some love

You ain't so tough

Come fill my little world

Right up

Right up

...with a review!

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	7. November A Little Later

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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I have this cute little decoration in my room. It's a cuddly snowman thing with a blackboard that says days to Christmas. When I got back home it still said 12 so I had to change it to 360!! Almost feels like Christmas didn't exist lol! Anyway enough of my random stories.

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_November 1983 – A Little Later_

Paul watched them come in from the garden, his best mate walking close behind the most gossiped about girl in college. True he knew a lot of it was just hearsay but that girl sure had skeletons in her no doubt walk-in closet. Was it so wrong to not want Sandy to become one of them?

His arms were loosely round her waist, Kirsten's fingers laced with his at her hips. It wasn't a very practical way to walk; Sandy had to adopt a slightly bowlegged John Wayne gait. But he knew the feeling that went with it; the reluctance to really break apart, to be connected only by holding hands. It just wasn't enough. Those little things, the subtleties came later and they weren't there yet, if they ever would be. But he knew the smiles on their faces. No one had made Sandy smile like that in a long time but Paul wondered why it had to be Kirsten who'd caused it.

Sandy sure knew how to choose them.

Why another good looking girl? They were always more difficult. And Kirsten was heartbreakingly beautiful.

Why another girl who needed saving? Why not someone who would save him? Save him from himself. Him and his damn hero complex. Paul knew Sandy couldn't help it. He didn't doubt Kirsten's potential to do Sandy good; it was her motives that were the question. What did a fine thing like Kirsten Nichol want with honest-to-goodness Sandy? Surely hers would be a relationship of taking not giving. Sandy could save her and she'd punish him because it wasn't what she wanted. Expect him to read her mind.

Paul sighed, perhaps he was a cynic, hardened by months of having a best friend who, for all he was still in Berkeley, was, in spirit, wherever the hell his good-for-nothing fiancée had vanished to.

Ever the gentleman, Sandy was now helping the petite blonde into her jacket, teasing her about wearing one in seventy degree weather. Kirsten ignored it, dropping a kiss on his lips and dragging him out the door. He saw Sandy hug Kirsten towards him and she tucked herself under his shoulder as his arm went around her. They made quite a couple, he had to admit. Both good looking, one well built, edging towards tall, the other small, fine like a china doll, one dark, the other blonde. The contrasts went on. Opposites, opposites, opposites. Their backgrounds, their lives, their beliefs and political views, their styles, interests, situation. Opposites attract. It was a law of science but it didn't necessarily make for suitable relationships. And certainly not with his best mate and the girl with the wicked witch shoes.

The sound of those shoes tapping down the sidewalk was the only sound. Block by block the silence extended, making it harder and harder to speak. The night air became a little awkward, heavy with whirring thoughts and things unsaid

He was walking her home, they'd only just met, he'd followed her, he had class that way, he was honest with her, they'd kissed and now…now…

Now so many thoughts were spiralling in her head. She liked him. She didn't know him. She'd kissed him. It hadn't taken much.

But it was worth it, so worth it.

But maybe she was just lonely. It had been a while since Jimmy, since any kind of physical contact, although it had never been like that with him. Perhaps she was simply craving the attention and Sandy gave it.

But she liked him.

She was sure she did. Why should she not? He was hot and intelligent, sensitive, funny, quick-witted…and you've only just met him, her conscious screamed.

It was harmless she told herself. He was walking her home, that's all. Nothing was going to happen. Nothing.

She wasn't that far gone. Though if any one could make her give in to the desires that she could feel not too far below the surface, it was Sandy. Hard as it was to believe, to accept, he was already in her head and under her skin. But it felt good.

Too good?

Sandy wondered what the hell was doing. He hadn't walked a girl home without being certain of the outcome in a very long time. And Kirsten was a nice girl and a freshman; he wasn't expecting anything, although girls who kissed like that... but for some reason he didn't care.

Now he wasn't say he didn't want to, you know, of course he did, she was the hottest girl to cross his path in, well, ever, and he _was_ twenty two and a guy. But Kirsten had the potential to be more than just a good lay; in fact Sandy was discovering that he didn't want her to be just that. He'd be disappointed. To leave her room tomorrow morning in a rush of awkwardness, harsh morning light and false promises would destroy the magic of tonight, deny that it meant anything, betray the dreams he'd had since he first saw those shoes.

His thoughts were verging on sentiment. So he liked her. Fuck he liked her. That was a frightening thought in itself. Sandy had to distract himself from his thoughts.

Predictably it was Sandy who broke the silence. He was never one to be quiet for long and Kirsten was glad for the escape from her thoughts, the way the awkwardness dissipated with the conversation. He began a ramble, she interrupted, he argued, she laughed, he teased her. She argued back, he interrupted, she pouted, he laughed, she teased him. He pressed against her hair, she relaxed into the arm around her, sneaking a nervous kiss herself; smiling and surprised when he grinned and hugged her closer. It had never been this easy with anyone before, never so natural, never so much fun.

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Sorry this ended up a bit short, that's just the way the chapters got cut up I'm afraid.

You guys are making me happy, thanks! Don't stop!

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	8. November All Saints Day

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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OK so this won't be the last chapter after all!

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_November 1983 – All Saints Day_

The conversation blossomed out of nowhere, spilling out along the sidewalks, laughter mingling in the darkness, scattered stars looking as though they had been thrown haphazardly across the sky. Kirsten looked up, smiling helplessly. Ok so maybe she was still a little tipsy. Sandy glanced up too, attempting to point out different stars which was a pretty damn romantic thing to do he figured. Sadly he had to give up after Orion's belt. Maybe an astronomy elective would have been useful. He tried to insist the sky was different in New York but Kirsten wasn't buying and the banter continued. They were so engrossed in it by the time they reached Kirsten's dorms; she let them both into the building without really thinking about it, keys in one hand, Sandy's hand in the other. They made their way up the staircase, whispering; it was the early hours of the morning after all.

Kirsten hesitated at her door and Sandy hung back a little, not wanting to appear too eager for an invitation.

'I…um…' she twisted her fingers together nervously.

'It's fine Kirsten. I'll…say goodnight.'

He stepped towards her, taking her into his arms for one hell of a goodnight kiss. Kirsten lingered at his lips, arms unwilling to untangle from his.

'I…I guess you could come in,' she breathed. 'But…'

'You know…I could really use a glass of water right now…with none of the connotations my coming in might imply.'

She smiled gratefully at him and pecked him on the cheek. 'I'm not meaning to be a tease…I just…'

'You're lovely,' he told her. 'I will attempt to be a gentleman.'

Giggling a little she fumbled with her key, struggling to unlock the door. 'I'm not drunk,' she insisted. 'I mean, I _was_ but not anymore. Honest.'

'I believe you,' he said as the door finally opened. 'You did manage to walk home.'

'On you arm.'

'I'm a lucky man. And just so you know I've been pretty much sober all night. I mean I was…a little…you know but I sobered up by the time…well, I just mean…I know what I'm doing…and that seems to be rambling doesn't it?' he said, laughing at himself a little self-consciously as he entered her room.

It was neat, very neat but also cluttered, very cluttered. It was apparently a single room but there was definitely enough stuff for two people. The shelves were filled with books and files meticulously arranged in height order, the windowsill crammed with bits and pieces, the notice board crowded with messages. There was a pile of clothes strewn over her desk chair, endless pairs of shoes lined up under the bed and jewellery spilling out of boxes on her dressing table like pirate treasure, catching the light. One wall was covered with photos, artistically arranged and he hoped for her sake that she didn't have to move rooms at the end of the semester. A world he didn't think existed outside the movies beamed out of the 6' by 4' glossies.

Perfect smiles, parties, limousines, black ties and posh frocks, swimming pools, yachts, multi-million dollar houses bigger than his entire apartment block back home in the Bronx. Kirsten smiled from the pictures, younger, even blonder. Groups of girls, all perfectly groomed, decked out in the best money could buy. Kirsten was the one who wore it well, like it was natural, which it probably was, he surmised, struggling to comprehend growing up in a world of such wealth, a life of such extravagance. She looked classy, the personification of elegance and he realised maybe that's what it was about her, amongst other things. She stood out, quietly.

He scanned the pictures, Kirsten's family, Kirsten's friends, a lifetime ago. Kirsten formal and informal, in some white dress that he couldn't take his eyes off, at the beach looking damned hot in a truly Californian bikini. Kirsten with her arms round some guy who looked better than he ever would in a tux; real chiselled features type, slightly weedy shoulders though. Kirsten and that guy. That guy and Kirsten at some bonfire party, at Prom, in a flashy red sports car that probably belonged to his father. No kid could get insurance on that kind of motor.

A family portrait round the sort of Christmas tree normally found in town centres. A tall, balding man with a detached air and eyes that bore their way out of the photograph, a classically beautiful blonde woman, obviously where Kirsten had inherited her good looks, Kirsten and a small girl in a rumpled party-dress, her smile reminiscent of one who had been sulking moments before. A hastily snapped picture, that guy with his arm draped lazily round Kirsten's shoulder, grinning at the camera while his girlfriend, as Sandy had figured she must have been at the time, stared off into the distance, oblivious.

That picture caught his eye, but then so many did, for many reasons. Mostly he noticed that for all her picture perfect, million dollar smiles, in few of the pictures did Kirsten look truly happy. That wasn't to say she looked miserable, there was just something he couldn't put his finger on. A tension, an absence, a distant look in those cerulean blue eyes.

'Water?' Kirsten was at his elbow with a tall glass.

He turned round; worried he'd been invading her privacy with the interest. 'Thanks. Nice pictures.'

'Ye-ah,' Kirsten said awkwardly. 'That's a different universe, another life. I guess I couldn't quite let it go.'

He wanted to ask…oh so many things but knew this wasn't the time. Not yet.

She waited for him to start asking questions, making judgements. He'd taken the proffered water and was drinking quickly. He obviously had been telling the truth about being thirsty. Maybe he'd meant it when he said he didn't judge on where she came from. Fat chance now he'd seen her wall. No doubt it screamed Daddy's girl, spoilt princess, high maintenance bitch. She looked down at her feet, not wanting to see the disgust on his face. For once her special shoes weren't enough to make her smile.

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So it wasn't very long and not a lot happened but hopefully you're still happy. Maybe some more kissing is in order!

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	9. November Night or Day

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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This isn't the end. Even if the OC is ending Red Shoes has a bit more to give (two chapters I think, as soon as I've finished my 4 essays!) and I'll be still lurking around writing when I can. I am so sorry for the wait. Crazy, crazy uni but I really wanted to get something up for the finale so here it is. Still can't believe it ends today. 'It all ends today; today's the day when dreaming ends.' It's become so much more than a tv show. Thank you, thank you, thank you all for reading and reviewing all these years, it's been wonderful, hope to see some of you for a while yet. Tons of love and hugs, we're gonna need them along with the Kleenex I'm sure!

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_November 1983 – Night or Day_

Sandy glanced at the girl next to him and realised something was wrong. 'Hey? You alright?' he asked, suddenly realising maybe his being here wasn't what she wanted. 'Maybe I should…'

'No, it's fine,' she said, sitting down on the bed. 'It's just…'

'Mmm?' Sandy sat hesitantly beside her.

She waved a hand at the pictures. 'That…that's not me, not any more. I know you'll have got the wrong idea of me…'

'Kirsten…if anyone knows about getting away from the place you come from…about not wanting to be judged on that or your family…it's me.'

She nodded, eyes still on the floor.

'And I think I'm far more likely to have my view of you coloured by everything that's happened tonight than idle gossip or old photos on your wall.' He reached for her hand again, tangling his fingers with hers, his thumb stroking softly, subconsciously. It made her skin tingle.

'And what do you mean by that?' she asked, attempting to regain her good spirits, spin that web of flirtatious teasing when all she really wanted was to close her eyes to those looking at her from the wall. Close them against stupid tears she could feel prickling.

'Oh I don't know…the conversation, the kisses…'

'Like this?' Kirsten leant in and gave him a soft kiss, hesitant again for all her words didn't sound it.

'Mmm,' Sandy agreed, kissing back gently. 'Something like that,' he added when they broke apart.

She smiled, blushing. 'I…I'll be right back.'

He looked concerned for a moment but nodded, feeling her loosen her hold on his fingers and get up. She smiled again as she slipped out to the bathroom.

Kirsten stood in front of the mirror and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, shakily. It wasn't just the alcohol making her head spin and giving birth to butterflies in her stomach. It was Sandy. Sandy. Some guy she barely even knew. Her lips were still tingling from his kisses, head still reeling at the craziness of it all. Sandy who was sat in her room waiting for her. Waiting for what, she wondered nervously, snapping back to the present. She frowned at her reflection, surveying the damage. She fixed her smudged make-up as best she could; wiping away the remnants of kissed-off lipstick and the clogged mascara at the corners of her eyes. The dramatic eyes she'd outlined what felt like days rather than hours ago, were now poor relatives. Panda eyes, she groaned and gave up, splashing water on her flushed cheeks and running a hang through her tangled hair, hurriedly tugging out cotters. Just in case.

She let herself back in quietly, flashing a smile in response to Sandy's relieved one. He was perusing her bookshelf.

'I thought you were doing Classics,' he said, turn to her, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. There were textbooks for classics, economics, business management, maths, literature, graphic design, art and art history.

'Oh no. I just take one module of that. I'm an undeclared major.'

'And a busy one.'

'Well I love art so I'm doing a couple of classes, including graphics. Then Art History is like, the sensible art route and it's my favourite so I do mostly that.'

'And the others?'

'Literature and classics are just interests.'

'So where do the rest fit in?'

Kirsten sighed. 'It's called placating my dad into paying tuition. Berkeley wasn't part of his plan.'

'His plan?'

'For me; business school and running his business.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah, don't think he's ever gonna understand that's not what I want but I think I'm getting off lightly. Business is a bore and I hate Economics but I rather like maths.'

'I know what you mean. Social Justice, Ethics, Public Interest; all those are where I want to go with my degree. The rest, I can take or leave them. Torts law just sends me to sleep. Literally.'

She laughed. 'Tell me about it. I might not have actually skipped any classes yet this semester but my brain certainly has.'

'You haven't missed any? What is wrong with you Fresher?'

'I don't know…I just haven't loosened up enough to do it yet. I feel I have to go even if I'm too tired or hung-over to pay attention.'

'Well that's a good thing really,' he backtracked.

Kirsten sat down heavily on the bed. 'It's just…that's me I guess. I grew up always having to be the best. Failure didn't exist in our house. Failure was the greatest sin. And failure was anything less than 100.'

'Your dad again?' Sandy asked quietly, sitting next to her and putting his hand over hers.

She nodded. 'I can't help it. He…was a big part of my life, of who I was…'

'But it's your life now.'

'I know.'

They were quiet for a moment; Sandy's thumb gently tracing up and down her hand.

'What made you choose Berkeley?' she asked suddenly.

'Oh…well, it's a good school, it's thousands of miles from home, the weather…my mother hates the sunshine. I just wanted to get away you guess.'

'I know what you mean.'

'It's not as though I don't love my family,' Sandy said quietly. 'I feel guilty leaving them. My mother feels betrayed, my brother and sister resent me for it but I just couldn't stay.'

'It's your life, not theirs,' Kirsten murmured and Sandy knew that she understood. This girl with her look-at-me shoes and endless eyes knew how he felt. For all they were so different, she understood him.

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Aw your reviews are all so lovely. Please leave another, it could be your last.

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	10. November Goodnight

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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I'm back, finally. Sorry – crazy end of term with less sleep than anyone should ever have, ever. Then I went to Arizona to visit my friend at college there and got more writing done than expected!

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_November 1983 – Goodnight_

'Mmm,' Sandy agreed, leaning in to kiss Kirsten and pushing her backwards till she fell back onto her pillows. He looked concerned for a moment before Kirsten giggled and reached up to pull him down to her again. She looped her arms round his neck, smoothing her palms down his back. Sandy trembled on his elbow, worried about crushing her. 'Wait…' he mumbled, sitting back up. Kirsten watched him, doe-eyed and smiling, pretty sure this wasn't goodbye. It wasn't.

Sandy hesitated for a moment, looking at her. How could something this random, moving this fast not feel strange? He ducked and tugged off his shoes before turning to Kirsten's. Those red shoes didn't look any worse for their trip. He slid them off gently, strong hands lingering over the dainty feet, perfectly painted nails, tempting white between her tans toes… They wiggled in his palm and he glanced up.

'Tickles,' she breathed and he set them down, crawling up the bed to sit beside her and receiving a smile and quiet 'hey.'

'Hey,' he mimicked, fingers slinking to her waist and trailing along the bare skin there. She lent in and tried to kiss him but he resisted, content to just watch her, feel flattered at the frustration evident on her pretty features.

'Sandy,' she whimpered and he smirked, hand tightening on her waist and hugging her towards him, only to drop the lightest of kisses on her nose. Kirsten blushed, her eyes casting downwards at the sweet gesture and pressing her own kisses to his forehead, his cheeks and finally catching his lips. They kissed slowly, the rush gone; they had all night. They pressed closer as Kirsten traced the outline of his jaw up to his ear achingly slowly and making him swallow thickly.

'You're gonna have to stop that…' he forced out, kissing her nose again in an attempt to distract both her and himself. 'Or being a gentleman is going to get _very_ difficult…'

She smiled wickedly but relented, burying her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck. That wasn't much better.  
Sandy swallowed a groan and lay back, shifting so Kirsten was pretty much resting on him, her head against his chest. The conversation began again, spinning a web between them. It ebbed and flowed naturally, like the tide, Sandy occasionally dropping a kiss on the top of her head, making Kirsten twist round, smile and kiss him herself.

'Your heart's racing,' she mumbled after several minutes of listening to its soft thumping hurrying away beneath her.

'Having a beautiful girl lying on my chest kinda has that effect.'

'Oh really?' she teased, barely disguising her blush and mentally berating herself. What a line.

'Well, when it's this beautiful girl anyway,' he told her, reaching for her wrist and feeling for the pulse. Kirsten felt sure her blood pressure would go through the roof. It was such a simple gesture and yet the feeling of his fingers against her pressure point could drive her crazy. And yet it was soothing too. They lay quiet, Sandy counting.

'You're so calm,' he whispered. 'How is that?'

'You make me feel safe,' was the drowsy reply.

'So safe you fall asleep on me?'

'Noo,' she responded, slowly. Sandy wasn't convinced.

'You wanna go to bed?'

Kirsten snuggled a little more against him, 'Mmm,' resisting when he tried to sit up.

'Come on,' he wheedled, manoeuvring her into a sitting position like a rag doll. Kirsten tipped her ruffled head sideways and smiled through the blonde mop. Sandy smiled back, smoothing the tangles out her face and kissing her softly before standing up.

'You need anything?'

She nodded shyly. 'Water would be good.'

He nodded and took two glasses to the sink while Kirsten languidly reached for her PJs, not really registering their less-than-sexiness until Sandy was back.

'Cute,' he told her and she coloured furiously, looking from the cat-adorned nightwear to the pile of discarded clothes by her bed that was only marginally less embarrassing with her bra languishing on the top.

'You're cute,' he continued, instantly making her feel better, silly though it was. She took the proffered water, sipping thankfully and watching Sandy drain his glass.

'Okay?' he asked as she set the remainder of hers on the nightstand. Kirsten nodded, not sure what to do now.

'You getting in?'

She edged backwards to slide under the sheets, dragging out the movement. Finally however, she was in bed and looking up through her lashes at the guy hovering by her bed. He lent over to brush his lips against her and lingered there. 'I should…'

'Stay,' Kirsten finished, her arm snaking up the wall behind them and flicking off the light as her lips crashed against his, demanding rather than asking.

'I…thought…you were…tired,' he got out between kisses, even as he slid in beside her.

'I was being persuasive.'

'Well you're very good at that,' he told her, hands itching to trail down the svelte body next to him but pretty sure that for all her flirtatious requests and persistent kisses that tonight wasn't _the_ night. He wanted to, gawd; being this close was sweet torture, her body warm and curled against him beneath a thin layer of cotton. But there was a hint of something else in her kisses, her request. The chance to spend the night and there still be conversation in the morning. It felt right; something told him there would be other nights.

Sandy shifted her more comfortably in his arms and she gave a soft sign that made his groin twitch despite himself. He couldn't work out how he could be so turned o and yet so content at the same time.

'You okay?' he heard her ask.

'Yeah, why?'

'You're suddenly very quiet.'

'Well we're going to sleep aren't we?' He was suddenly struck by the thought that he'd got it all wrong; what if she didn't mean anything more than tonight, surprised that he was disappointed by the idea.

Kirsten nestled against his shoulder, 'You always have an answer don't you, lawyer man?'

He chuckled and bent to kiss her forehead, 'Goodnight Kirsten.'

She sighed again, wondering how it was that she felt so content in his arms. Kirsten closed her eyes against such questions, confusing thoughts, the disapproving stares of the Polaroid people of her past life.

'Goodnight Sandy.'

And the pictures on the wall looked on.

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Hurray for holidays and 11 hour flights non?

Please review and make me feel happy.

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	11. November Good Morning

**Red Shoes**

**Summary:** Berkeley Kandy, rain, red shoes, a chance meeting

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the O.C. but I do have cute red shoes!

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_November 1983 – Good Morning_

Sandy watched the dawn begin to creep over Kirsten's ceiling, turning to see the golden light illuminate the face of the girl lying next to him. Somehow his eyes got caught on her face despite the fact she was sleeping. His gaze traced her profile, the proud forehead, button nose, the full lips that had kissed him till he could barely think straight, curved a little at the edges as though her dreams were pleasant. Her blonde hair, glinting in the sunlight, was splayed across the pillow, framing her face like a halo. Her ears were dainty, the curve of her pale throat enticing. He forced his eyes back up to her face, the long lashes lying flush against her cheeks, soft eyelids hiding the most mesmerising pair of blue-green eyes he had ever seen. She shifted in her sleep, and Sandy held his breath, not wanting her to wake a minute before she had to. She continued sleeping; scrunching her nose and letting out a little snore that had to be the cutest thing he had heard in his life. He bit back a smile and looked away, confused by the rush of affection he felt. Soon enough however he was drawn back to studying her. He had no idea he lay there just listening to her rhythmic breathing, the slight snores every now and then, his eyes, mind and heart all captive.

Kirsten woke up with a start, disorientated and confused. Her first thought was 'Who the fuck is in my bed?' Then she saw soft blue eyes focused on her face and it was okay. It was Sandy. The steady gaze was more comforting than unnerving; despite the fact he was watching her. She smiled and he smiled back, any awkwardness dissipating, something about their relationship silently cementing.

'Hey,' he said softly, voice gravelly, watching the panic that had flared in her eyes when she awoke, settle and dissolve. He wondered how often she woke not knowing where she was or who was laid beside her. He wondered if he should have cut and run under the cover of darkness but he knew that wouldn't have felt right.

'Hey…how long have you been awake?'

'Oh…' Sandy shifted his eyes away from hers to hide the lie. 'A while.'

'You look tired,' she murmured, 'lifting a hand to stroke his cheek. 'Did you get any sleep?'

'…Some,' he admitted.

'You should have woken me.'

'Oh no, you looked so peaceful.'

'You were watching me?'

'A little…' he tangled his fingers with hers. 'You look happy when you sleep.'

'And I don't usually?' she asked, cracking a smile.

'Well…just you look, a little…wistful some of the time…your eyes are a little sad.'

The smile faltered. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't apologise,' Sandy said hurriedly. 'You have beautiful eyes, a beautiful smile. I just want you to always be smiling.'

'No one can smile all the time,' she said softly.

'I know.'

The lay quiet for a moment, Sandy's fingers stroking through her hair. 'What time do you have class?'

'An hour,' she groaned.

'Same. Guess we should get up.'

'Mmm,' Kirsten held him close as he pressed another kiss to her forehead, dragging out the moment as long as she could before following reluctantly out of bed. She loitered indecisively in front of her closet while he tugged his shirt back into place, attempting to smooth out the slept-in creases. He didn't look like a guy proud to be doing yet another walk of shame.

'I can't decide what to wear,' she mumbled, anything to break the silence that wasn't awkward until she thought about it. Sandy looked up from putting on his shoes.

'Well you always look fabulous.'

'Thanks…but it doesn't really help.'

'Sorry,' he said, standing up and coming over. He hesitated behind her, not sure where things stood this morning. She turned round and smiled shyly. 'I'll decide eventually and probably be late for class even though we got up in time.'

He smiled back. 'So uh…um…this is…'

'Weird? Awkward?'

'A little, but mainly…I kinda feel bad, I don't even have your number and yet here we are…'

'It's okay.'

'We should uh, have that coffee sometime.'

Kirsten bit back her disappointment at the way things were ending; here was the open-ended, meaningless promise to 'see you around'.

'Yeah…sure.'

Sandy frowned, she suddenly seemed less than enthusiastic about the idea.

'Well, if you want to of course and no doubt I'll see you on the way to class but that's days away so, can I uh, leave you my number?' he rambled, going to her desk and scrawling on a scrap of paper before returning and pressing it into her hands. 'Call me?'

She nodded dumbly, confused. Suddenly it all seemed back on.

'So…I'll see you later. Like, really, see you later, okay?' he asked, pulling her into a hug.

'Wait,' she said as they broke apart and he turned to go, hurrying to her desk and writing her number on another slip of paper. 'Here.'

The smile she got in return left her in no doubt that she would see him later.

'Thanks.'

'Thank _you_.'

Sandy pulled her towards him again and kissed her, relieved to feel her warm lips press strongly back against his own. Maybe she was enthusiastic after all. They parted reluctantly and he carefully stowed away the paper holding those ten precious digits in his jacket pocket, grinning at her as he did so.

'See you later then,' she said softly, matching him smile for smile.

'Bye Kirsten.'

'Bye.'

She watched him slip out the door, standing giddy in the middle of her room still wearing those ridiculous pyjamas and a wide smile. Her head was spinning, her heart racing, fingers still clutching that little bit of paper. She couldn't quite believe this.

It seemed like a good day to wear her red shoes again.

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Et voila. There it is. Another one! Hope you enjoyed it.

Any votes for the next thing I get my teeth into?

Thank you for all your reviews, one last one wouldn't go unappreciated!

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